


Prelude: Shepard

by DustieRhoades



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alliance, Earthborn Shepard, F/F, F/M, N7 Program, Origin Story, Star of Terra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustieRhoades/pseuds/DustieRhoades
Summary: Earthborn Shepard origin story from birth to the day before she ships out on the Normandy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Shepard's origin story. I wrote this in a different style than my normal prose and because of that I know that there are likely issues with tense. However, it's been "done" for nearly 6 months now and I want to get it out there, flaws and all.
> 
> My Shep's story is definitely more detailed that what you will read here and is not strictly held to in-game canon.
> 
> Cover art by the every lovely Protecat on tumblr/deviantart.

** **

**215-**

The lab was under the mountain. The team worked long hours studying what had been found on Mars. Mass Effect and Element Zero.

The raw element surrounded her for years and then months before she realized she was pregnant.

No one knew what exposure to eezo would do to an unborn child.

She never would know what it would do to hers.

**  
6 years later**

The first thing she really remembered was soft hair.

It was dark yet warm and she spun it around her finger. There was the smell of flowers and the sound of a deep laugh. There was a river and sunlight. A heart beating under her ear.

_Don’t be shy_ , someone said and she buried her head in a shoulder.

Lilting laughter and a warm hand on her back.

_It’s ok baby,_ peeking out he smiled back at her and she buried her head once again.

_Someone wants to stay close to mom_.

More laughter, but always the thump, thump, thump under her ear.

**  
4 years more**

Something was wrong.

The seat belt cut her, but held her up.

A limp hand and blood.

_Mommy?_

A shape slumped against the roof.

_Daddy?_

More water and mud, screeching metal and lights, blue and red, blue and red.

Why were things the wrong way around?

So quiet. So loud.

Rain pounds outside.

 

It was made to sound like a game. Sound like an adventure.

_You’ll go to live somewhere new. There’s a dog there and a little girl just your age._

No one really said where home really went.

A single suitcase and a teddy bear.

Everyone looked at her like she was already broken.

 

The moon was big and bright. It lit her way. The sash opened quietly and she left. All she wanted to do was go home.

Stories said that feet would lead her back. But they lost the way.

**  
9 weeks**

Dirty. Hungry. Cold.

The moon and stars were blocked by buildings and smog. She missed the smell of pine trees and rivers. Hated not being able to see the sky.

The big girl cornered her and tried to take her shoes.

A flailing but forceful punch landed.

She braced for a beating that never came.

_You might be good for something after all._

**  
1,400 Days**

It had been eons since she had thought of that tendril of hair. It hit her like a flash and her feet stumbled.

“Learn how to fucking walk, klutz!” Someone laughed and pushed her from behind.

The big girl turned and watched her carefully. She hadn’t lost herself like that in years.

Her heart pounded.

She was suddenly curious to know if they would be disappointed in her now, was this what they had wanted? _Don’t be shy._

The Reds ran the 10th and held it fast. It was their territory. Slight crimes. Nothing too bad.

Yet.

It was only a matter of time.

  
“Stand here,” the big girl hissed in her ear, “don’t do anything stupid.”

All she had done was hand over her ration to someone else. Attendance at this meeting was her punishment. The big girl gave off an air of intimidation, so none of the Red boys dared to come near. She wasn’t so lucky. They had started eyeing her months ago. It made her skin crawl.

A ration. A punishment. She loathed the meetings.

Sour breath in her face and an iron grip on her wrist. She stood fast and refused to look. 

“You certainly grew up,” a tickle on her neck. Long, calloused, dirty fingers reached under her shirt.

An iron taste in her mouth as he felt her roughly. Her lip hurt. Didn’t dare to make a sound. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it.

She watched in silence as his head cracked against the concrete wall.

“I told you before. Don’t you fucking touch her,” the big girl growled as she stood above his crumpled body, blood seeping from a newly opened wound.

The defense was nice. It was terrifying. It was confusing.

“Thanks.”

Hot breath played with her again, this time from the mouth of someone else “I see the way you look at me.”

“I don’t-”

There would be no more punishments today.

**  
87,000 hours**

The big girl was gone and with her absence came the desire to skirt the rules, take a risk.  
  
A tongue met hers hot and eager. She was so ready. A laugh as his hardness hit her hip.

“I love you,” he panted and part of her believed it.

She let him kiss his way down her body and when he slid his hand into her pants she gasped and closed her eyes.

Immature and inexperienced fingers probed and prodded and then stopped suddenly.

“What the fuck?”

When she opened them, he was across the room. Terror shone in his eyes as he scooted away from the bare mattress.

A blue light was coming from somewhere.

No, it was coming from _her_.

He hastily buckled his pants, tripping as he left the room. She never saw him again.

 

Comfort for the rejection came pressed into her hands in the form of a small baggie.

Her new friend muttered, “this’ll help,” with a knowing smile.

Red grains flow around like water.

It was days before she unlocked the door. She had to squint to see the sun.

Her skin is sensitive to touch. The blue burned it raw.  


**1,576,000 seconds**

A knife had appeared from somewhere.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” the big girl threatened.

“Stop,” she pulled at her arm when the thin line of blood appeared against the metal.

“You’re going against me in this?” The question was a test. It had been too long since she had taken any action. Someone had been whispering in ears. _They know_.

The big girl had come to her tender and hopeful, so unlike how she was now. They had tumbled together for weeks, sometimes rolling high on sand, other times not. Their intimate connection had made her complacent and there were others who were angling for the top.

The knife bit deeper. She was so scared.

“Please don’t,” tears pricked her eyes.

_My firefly_ , she’d whisper against her neck when their breasts pressed together.

“This is our territory! This fucking cunt tried to steal our stuff!” someone shouted.

The pack mentality ruled. The big girl grunted and looked away, adjusted her grip on the knife.

“They’re right you know, this is our fucking territory,” menace laced her voice.

A look of terror and hope flitted in her direction.

A tendril of hair.

The knife pressed deeper.

“Don’t.”

A thick, red, liquid line.

It was the second time she had ever punched her.

This time, the beating came.

Her nose cracked first, made it nearly impossible to breath. She had fought before, wasn’t a stranger to the odd brawl, but there were so many of them. The big girl hit the hardest, hit the most. There was so much hatred and sadness too.

The knife slashed.

She barely saw someone line up for the kick. Her vision faded and she heard a strangled sob.

Another one was coming. She tried to stand to block it.

**Time Stops**

Someone screamed.

A flash of blue rocked the small alley and she collapsed. Gravel digging into her fair cheek.

 

Thump, thump, thump.

_C’mon Io’ken, smile for the camera!_

Dad was trying to be funny, make her laugh. He could be silly like that.

But Mom was so warm and smelled so nice.

_Hey baby, can you be brave for a second? We want a picture of you because you look so pretty today._

Mom’s hair was so soft, so warm in the sun. She twirled it around her chubby finger.

Dad laughed, muttered something to the photographer.

_It’s ok baby._

She peeked out and saw Dad smiling at her. It just made her snuggle further.

_Someone wants to stay close to mom_.

Thump, thump, thump.

There is no memory after that. Nothing except a jumble of feelings.

 

Thump, thump, thum-eep, beep, beep.

White walls, the smell of antiseptic.

Her face was sore, her body ached.

A man sat near the edge of the bed. Didn’t say anything when she woke, just got up and went to the door.

She was already heading back under when the nurse appeared.

**  
Day 1**

Military dress. A serious face.

“My name is David Anderson,” he said, “I found you in the alley. What’s your name child?”

There was hope in his eyes.

She said nothing.

**  
Day 30**

The military man watches her in physio. He always waits until the end.

“What’s your name?”

“Are you ever going to leave?”

A noncommittal shrug.

His eyes were always searching hers.

“Io’ken Shepard.” The name falls from her by accident. The surname she almost forgot.

A slight nod. A hint of recognition.

“We thought you were dead.”

“I almost was.”

**  
Day 60**

They tell her this is the last day she’ll need the therapy.

David Anderson comes again.

There’s a packet of papers, a duffle bag too.

“I have a proposition.”

The papers read: Earth Systems Alliance.

_The stars_. _Space._ Her head had been down so long.

But what about home?

She pushed the packet away and crossed her arms.

“You don’t want me.”

When he orders her to get up, she doesn’t argue.

 

The rows and rows of headstones stretch out before her, neat and orderly.

So many more here since the First Contact War.

Head down, she follows, feet padding in the short grass.

Purpose filled boots stop. Hesitant tennis shoes soon follow.

“Why are we here?”

His head bows.

 

John Shepard one reads. Beloved husband to Hannah and father of Io’ken. 2125 - 216_

Hannah Shepard says the other. Beloved wife to John and mother of Io’ken. 2128 - 216_

 

A tendril of hair. A deep laugh.

 

He leaves her.

She weeps.

Blue comes off of her in waves. Cleansing and pure.

 

He returns.

Her muscles are stiff, her eyes burn. She feels strangely empty.

 

“Do you have a knife?”

There is no worry. He rummages in his pocket.

The hunk of metal is still warm.

“Goodbye, dad.” Cold, delicate fingers trace the carved name.

Flicking open the blade, she trims down an auburn lock.

The strands dance on the breeze. 

“Goodbye, mom.”

 

Her script is bold on the page. Anderson co-signs.

There’s a short explanation about what’s happening. School before enlisting, she’s so far behind.

Another surgery when she’s fully healthy. She’ll need something called an amp.

They call her a biotic.

 

The sun is gone when they finally leave. The moon is big and bright.

“Are you ready?” Anderson asks.

She looks towards the sky.

“I am now.”

 

**Month 16**

They tell her she’s a quick study.

More like her mind was thirsty.

The scar on her neck itches.

Something happened at the BAaT facility. Her biotics will be trained somewhere else.

Two years before she can see the stars.

 

**Month 18**

He’s different than she was. Hard and dense, muscular instead of soft. Smells of sweat and musk. It fills her head when he’s between her knees. Sometimes she misses the big girl, the feel of her breasts in her hands. Other times she can’t think of anything except him inside her.

She tamps down hard on her release when it comes. Fears he’ll run away.

They are both waiting for their programs to start.

She knows it’s a relationship of convenience.

He does not.

 

Anderson finds out a month later.

Fast tracks her into the new biotics program.

The only thing she’ll ever miss is his smell.

**  
Month 20**

The power fills her.

She lives for the chance to call it.

The corners of her mouth pull into a wicked grin when the instructor tells her to charge. They’ve gone through several dummies in the time she’s been here. Each one undone by her zealous desire.

Some of the others had second-guessed her talents. Thought she had only been admitted because of Anderson.

There’s no way someone so small could be that powerful.

There’s no way someone who just got their amp could learn to harness it that quickly.

There’s no way –

They soon shut up.

Biotics had always been a part of her, just as much as that memory. Now that she knew, now that she was aware, had the focus, it felt strange to think of them as scary or terrifying.

They were liberating.

For a time she wanted to go back, try that fight again, shove their faces in her power.

_Do you see me now?_

The thought comforts her for a time.

It’s shallow and she knows it.

 

There are a few, some she might call friends. None of them are close. It’s still hard to trust.

Sometimes she gives in to pretty words, more primal urges. The boys always want more from her than she’s willing to give. They want emotions.

She wants release.

 

Most of her down time is spent on the roof of the building, looking up. Waiting for her time.

 

Along with training, they learn about a lot of things.

Turians, Asari, Elcor, Salarian. So many galactic races.

Mass Effect, the Citadel, the Martian Archives.

Turians and their focus on duty, on regimental living, intrigue her.

The Asari are beautiful. And deadly. How does one cope with living that long?

Humanity is young in the grand scheme. Humanity is young and chaotic, but eager.

**  
Month 26**

Graduation.

Anderson comes and smiles proudly. Hugs her happily.

Shuttles ship out tomorrow, carting all new grads to their various posts. She’ll be one of a few new biotics set to train on Arcturus with eventual deployment in the Skyllian Verge.

It’s the first time in a long time she’s been excited.

 

There’s a push, a slight bump when the shuttle breaks Earth’s atmo. A feeling of loss when that familiar gravity lets go and the artificial gravity kicks in.

She’s not walking, but somehow, her feet are finally leading her home.

**  
Month 30**

Military life suits her. There’s calm in knowing where she should be, what she’ll be doing.

The gun range is her favorite. Dropping from orbiting ships in shuttles to planets is another.

Hours spent staring out the windows. Calm in the expanse. Stars that sparkle brightly.

 

Comradery grows within her unit. She starts to look at them like family, but never says so. It’s like the Reds, but better. They have a noble purpose. Honor.

They make her laugh. Sometimes, so much she cries.

She envies their strengths. Admires their potential in spite of their weaknesses.

Together they’re unstoppable.

 

Arcturus houses so many different species, temporarily and permanently.

It’s a fight to hold back on the numerous questions that threaten to break through her lips.

All of them are so different, so unique, so beautiful.

 

Two hands reach for the same cup of coffee.

An awkward apology and a laugh.

Her name is Adalie.

Part of a science team stationed on Arcturus for 2 months.

No fraternization among the Alliance ranks she was told. Penalties could be harsh. Reassignment, confined to a desk.

No one said anything about civilians.

**  
Month 31**

She isn’t given much time away from her unit or duties. Adalie is patient. Claims she’s happy to see a different face every once in a while. They set up times to hang out.

Nothing fancy, but fun nevertheless.

When she talks about being on a ship her excitement bubbles over uncontrollably. The joy she imparts about hopping from planet to planet is infectious. Adalie grins all the time.  She says things to make her keep smiling. Always wants to hear her laugh.

It’s the first time since the big girl swiped at her with the knife that she’s allowed herself to feel this way.

She has soft brown hair and hazel eyes. Smells like ammonia and bleach. Apologizes for it all the time.

“It’s the chemicals we use,” she claims.

They sit and stare at the stars.

**  
Month 32**

Adalie is leaving soon. Her team has all that they need.

Reaching for her, trying to catch the moment, hazel eyes open wide.

An awkward push, confusion.

“Io’ken, we’re just friends.”

It’s been so long, she couldn’t read the signs.

 

A terse goodbye. The science team ships out.

She starts to rebuild the wall.

 

Her unit doesn’t notice anything except her new determination.

She excels.

**  
Month 36**

There are issues in the Skyllian Verge.

The Alliance has been tightening their restrictions in the Terminus Systems. Batarians fight back. They call them pirates, slavers, warlords. The nomenclature and human military presence only makes the aliens more vigilant and violent in their acts against the colonists.

A shuttle drops down near Elysium from a nearby post for some much needed shore leave.

The unit is full of verve and bravado. So many slaps on the back. They promise themselves debauchery, drinks, perhaps some fleeting leave-love. The young group feels invincible. They are too cocky.

Unaware.

The attack happens early one morning. There are no pleas for mercy, no terms for negotiation.

She watches as soldiers and colonists alike are cut-down without warning or preamble.

Any well-organized front they may have had quickly breaks down with the losses.

The batarians are hearty and powerful. They are ruthless in their slaughter.

 

Her biotics feel useless against them. A sliver of fear piles into a mountain of doubt. _Will they fail? Can they fail? Will they fail? Can they-_ the thought pounds through her mind in time with her heartbeat. She prays to something, someone, anything that they won’t.

 

As the navy fights above, the remains of her unit struggles to maintain position against the incoming forces.

Tired, hungry, and running on empty, she shoves weapons into the colonists’ hands and mutters some words to them. Her duty tells her to stay and fight, but she doesn’t want to die.

A breach in the defenses. All seems lost.

In a hail of gunfire and a suicide run, she reroutes the shields, forces the attackers into a bottleneck.  The colonists fight and fire, as effectively as they can.

The smell of flowers, a rushing river. Tunnel vision and a tendril of hair.

Her precision is absolute. Bodies pile up.

A retreat is sounded and the colonists cheer. She is numb.

 

There’s a ceremony upon return. Over half her unit is dead, a large portion of the rest are injured. Some of them will never fight or walk or see again. They say she single-handedly held the colony.  Anderson watches silently from the back of the room. Cameras flash.

The Star of Terra.

 

“I cheated,” she whispers into his ear when they hug. It’s been a long time since she’s seen him.

“You lived,” he grasps her tightly but doesn’t smile.

 

The stars don’t judge. She weeps for those she’ll never see again. The guilt of her own destruction weighs her down.

Nightmares start a few weeks later.

 

Promotion.

Assigned to a new unit.

Deployment to a new place.

Hard work, determination, and a weekly date with a head doctor.

**  
2 Dozen Months and Another Rank**

A commanding officer pulls her aside.

Calls it an opportunity.

A quick switch in postings, assignment to lead a new unit, nothing more.

The underlying chatter: somewhat secret actions are being planned back in the Skyllian Verge.

The Alliance would love to see the Hero of Elysium there. It will lend credence to their actions.

After making so much progress, her mind retreats against the old memories.

She politely declines. It’s the first mark against a perfect record.

 

When news of Torfan hits, confusion soon follows. More losses, former acquaintances, old friends, die in retaliation.

The batarians never recover.  


Some would call her rise meteoric after that. She just says she’s doing her job.

Months turn into years. Accomplishments turn into a stellar military career.

SSV Ain Jalut. SSV Hyderabad. SSV Elbrus.

Onwards and upwards.

Always hailed as the Hero of Elysium. The accolade is sour.

**  
Lustrum**

Lips brush against a chorded wrist.

Foreheads pressed together.

Sweat slicked bodies.

Soft nothings, moans and heightened breaths. She unconsciously reaches for something that isn’t there.

The rhythm builds.

Falling over the edge in a flare of blue.

 

His finishes soon after. Rolls over.

When she lays her head on his shoulder, he chuckles.

“What?”

“Nothing, sweetie.” He rubs her hair.

 

Later. An overheard snippet between friends, “Yeah, it’s great. The closest I’ll ever get to fucking an Asari.” A guffaw and what sounds like pats on the back.

Two months and one night together.

Her stomach turns. Unbidden tears rise. Hates herself for not seeing it sooner. Enters the room anyway. Conversation stops.

Delivers the report with alacrity and charm. Emotions threatening to out her at any second.

Turning on one heel, she leaves. Finds a quiet corner where she can see the stars.

 

Fear and hope alike allows it one more time. The smug look of satisfaction that is painted across his face when they finish is enough.

He gathers his clothes and leaves, saying nothing.

She curls inward. Strong back protecting her sensitive insides, yet again.

 

Anderson can tell something’s off, but doesn’t press. 

This time there’s no packet of papers. Instead it’s a sleek black datapad.

“It’s a privilege only forwarded to the best of the best and those that have sacrificed most. They want you.”

The screen glows.

Interplanetary Combatives Training. N7.

No cajoling needed this time, no remembrance.

A thumbprint is scanned as she nods at Anderson.

“You’ll be going back to Earth,” he says.

“Yes.”

“They are honored to have you,” and she gives him a curt, respectful salute, “It won’t be easy.”

“Nothing ever is.”

Rookie, again.

 

Rio is hot, humid, and oppressive. It suits the training to a T.

There are extensive and brutal exercises. Ones focused on survival, others on tactics. Strategic deployment. Stealth. None of the training missions are hard. She’s seen worse already.

Delta team totals five. Theirs is the only team to make it through all missions with all members intact. No one says it, but it’s all due to her.

So much of designation N1 is based on mind over matter. That’s something she conquered long ago. When others cannot push themselves, she pushes for them.

There’s not much in her that will allow for giving up or giving in.

 

Ranks N2 to N5 drop behind her easily enough as do the months and then years. Delta team has rotating members. She’s the only one that stays. The others look to her leadership by default, even though some of them have seen and done things far beyond her own comprehension.

Through it all she shines like a beacon.

 

Loneliness always rankles in the dead of night.

An empty bed, the desire for a soft touch, whispered words, bites, and kisses. Part of her hates the wantonness. The other part readily gives into those base desires. Her own company greets her often enough during her stay at the Vila Militar.

**  
2182**

Anderson pays her a quick visit before N6 black ops missions start.

Tells her about the joint Human/Turian effort on the newest and most technologically advanced frigate in the galaxy. It’s a slow process he explains, as both sides are sometimes unwilling to compromise. Regardless, it’ll be the pride of the Council.

Even better, it’s to be his to command.

He leaves her with an offer. The first time he’s ever asked: Join his crew.  
  
A warm glow of pride washes over her at the request.

She neither commits to or denies the posting.

N6 isn’t finished yet. From the starting class of 40, eight remain. Two teams of four to tackle the Alliance’s black ops mission in the Terminus System. If caught or killed, the mission is one that will not, cannot, be claimed. Any and all involvement will be denied.

Notes on her combat actions and her equally adroit diplomatic skill are passed along and up the chain once the mission is labeled a success.  
  
What follows next is a quiet bid to the Galactic Council as the Alliance puts forward a name for consideration: Io’ken Shepard, newly promoted Alliance N7, candidate as the first Human Spectre. Few know of the recommendation, and those that do are need-to-know only.

Upon her return to Rio, a quick message is sent to Anderson: _I am honored to join the Normandy’s crew_.

  
**2183**

The Normandy is beautiful, a true sight to behold. Anderson is eager to show off his ship. Standing in the decontamination chamber, hearing the VI speak, wearing the N7 designation on her shoulder for the first time feels right. She’s home.

Duty hasn’t officially started yet, but he wants to introduce her to the crew first. Not all are military, not all are Alliance. It is to be a casual meet and greet tour of the ship before departure.

Her hair is down. She twirls a soft, dark tendril around her finger.

Anderson leads her to the bridge and begins his introductions, “This is Jeff Moreau, quite possibly the best pilot around.”

The man at the helm quips, “I am the best pilot.”

When Anderson clears his throat, he adds quickly, “Sir.”

He leads her over to a man sitting in the co-pilot’s chair, his hands rapidly moving over the controls, tapping furiously. Anderson doesn’t pause before saying, “This is Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko. He’s here to help with tech and combat.”

Her biotics reach out of their own accord and the LT’s eyes widen perceptibly as he turns to look at her.

“Ma’am,” he nods and reaches out to shake her hand. He’s tall, and handsome, and his biotics are strong.

The bridge swims in her vision.

A match. For the first time ever.

“LT,” she manages to mutter as Anderson leads her away talking.

She’s reeling.

An interruption burbles from her, unbidden, “He’s a biotic.”

“Alenko?” She nods in response, “Yes. As a matter of fact he is. How could you tell?”

“I felt him.”

Anderson stops. Watches her closely before turning his back to her and continuing to lead her through the CIC, “Simple shakedown cruise…

Turian Spectres Nihlus Kryik, Saren Aterius…

We’ll ship out tomorrow at 0700.”

As she furthers herself from the Lieutenant’s presence she’s able to focus. Her vision becomes clear again as she gazes at the gorgeous galaxy map.

“Shepard. 0700. We clear?

Nodding, she salutes.

“You ready?”

“I am now.”


End file.
